


Remind Me of Myself

by CinnamonrollStark



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Avengers Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Heartbreak, Loss, Memory Loss, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Avengers, Protectiveness, Sad, Sickfic, Temporary Amnesia, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonrollStark/pseuds/CinnamonrollStark
Summary: A terrible accident leaves Peter Parker with a Traumatic Brain Injury and his aunt in a medically induced coma. Tony was at the wheel and blames himself, but he has to put all that aside as he must step up as Peter's caretaker.





	1. Heavy as a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> No worries guys, I'm not quitting You Will Be Found. I just had a very whump idea and had to fly with it. Enjoy!

Tony's first thought when the world stops spinning is that Peter is dead.  _Peter is dead._ Mere seconds before, he'd caught the teen's wild and frightened eyes as the car spun in a countless series of loops and jolts. The sound his head had made as the side of his skull collided with the window is ringing in his ears. 

_Why didn't the glass shatter?_

He chooses to give himself a moment to greive before he confirms his suspicions.  May, next to him, is breathing raggedly, eyes shut. He can see the sphere's jolting back and forth under her lids. Stark hones in on the sound, the  _dripdripdrip_ behind him, and he can't determine whether thay is the sound of blood or gasoline. He can't tell which is worse. It smells like smoke, like burnt tires. 

He has to look now, or he'll never have the strength. His pupils flit back and forth before he cranes his neck around to see the boy.  

Tony feels like he's going to vomit. Pete's laying sideways on the back seat, his head propped awkwardly on the inner edge of the car door. There's no blood, not really, just a smear of- it could be brain matter- pasted on the inside of the window. And there is a bit of red, yes, blood, which flows slowly and steadily from the corner of his lower lip. A bite mark, self inflicted. That glance convinces Tony that his fears were correct, until, but he has to be sure. 

His arm slowly snakes towards the boy, to his neck, where he presses gently under the side of his Adam's apple, feeling for the carotid. He's not expecting the sudden and thready movement of blood under his fingertips, and it almost makes him weep right there on the spot. Pete's alive; injured and broken in spots, but he is alive. He waits to feel it again and let's out an audible sob when it comes. 

That relief is his fuel. Tony goes into overdrive, launching himself into the driver side door until it cracks open. When he sees the sky, he realizes just how bad this is. The car is upside down. How did he not notice it? Trees wave at him from a grassy sky. It's enough to make his heart start pounding, but he's going to push through. 

It takes two or three tries to fully eject himself from the carseat, and he lands uncomfortably, disoriented on the wet and freezing ground. He pays no mind to his own injuries- the worst of which is a compact fracture to his femur. It hurts like a bitch and is soaking his pant leg with blood, but he refuses to look at it. He knows he'll see the bone.

Peter is his first priority, and he feels no guilt for that. That is exactly what May would be telling him if she were conscious.  When he opens the kid's door, he falls awkwardly on the grass. Tony scoops him up, relief flooding his lungs as he feels the kids chest rising against his own. The dead weight should be enough to make him topple, especially considering his broken thigh, but the adrenaline keeps him awake and stronger than ever. It feels like nothing, really, heavy as a feather.

He has to put him down, has to get May, but is careful when he does, glancing him over for any other injuries he may have missed. And, surely, there is one, a three inch gash across the side of his jaw. It's not bleeding a lot for how deep it is, and it worries him.

May comes out easily, still unconscious, but far more responsive than her nephew. As Tony carrys her the few feet to where he layed Peter, he can feel his legs giving out, his heart slowing. He feels woozy. He sets her down before he falls. The last thing he does before he drifts off is call 911, but he does not have the strength to say a word.

~

Two of the three injured wake in the Emergency Room, one flailing and thrashing and screaming, the other calm but terrified. May is livid, angry but not at anyone in particular. She screams repeatedly, "Where is Peter? Where is my kid?" And Tony doesn't blame her. He wants to know, too. The nurses and doctors tell her to try and remain calm, which only makes her angrier. One of her short acrylic nails makes a shallow gash across a doctor's neck. It's not deep enough to harm him, but he steps back in shock.

"I'm a nurse, okay? Okay. Just tell me what condition he's in. Is he okay? Is he okay?"

Tony doesn't have enough willpower to respond, but he knows that Pete's far from it. No one responds to May, which he takes as a bad sign, before they sedate her enough to stitch her up in several places. Someone to her right reads a scan taken of her chest.

"Myocardial contusion and tamponade. We need to get her to the OR."

Tony jolts up. "Will she be alright?" He asks. A doctor gives him a pitying glance. "She's in really good hands, sir. We're going to give her the best we got." 

They start to wheel her away on her gurney. Tony grips the doctor's hand and for a moment, is hesitant to ask. 

"What about Pete?"

The doctor doesn't have a good answer. Not entirely a bad one, either. "I'm not sure," the man says. "I know he's in emergency surgery. I'm sorry," and then he's gone. It's all far too fast, as if time had slowed as that car crashed, and suddenly, sped up in the hospital.

As a team of doctors work to yank his leg back into place, Tony hyperventilates into his hands. If Peter or May dies, it's all going to be on him.

It always is.


	2. Mr. Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony anxiously awaits news on Peter, and learns devastating information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, over 200 hits? Thank you guys! Enjoy!

They have May on a ventilator in another room, according to Tony's doctor. Stark has decided to call the man Jim even though he knows his name is John. He's high on the pain meds, and finds this concept hilarious.

His actual pain, however, has not subsided. His leg feels like it's on fire, and he's got nine broken ribs- nine- and he's being forced to lay still because on top of all of that, he has a hairline fracture in his T11 Vertebrae. All in all, not his best day. And yet, still better than the hell Peter and his aunt are going through. The kid is still in surgery. Someone finally got back to him as to the boy's condition, and it's not good. His brain is swelling faster than they can treat it, and he's got a shit ton of internal bleeding.

The jury is up on whether he or May will make it through. May's on the vent to make sure oxygen gets everywhere it needs to go, because her body is incapable of doing so at the moment, as well as keep her body calm, to take the strain off of it as she heals. But she may not heal, as she has many more injuries under the surface than Tony had noticed at first glance. A bruised heart, filling with blood, and a brain bleed. That, of course, had been taken care of in surgery, but tubes are snaking out from the sides of her ribs to drain blood from all the places blood isn't supposed to be. All this, Tony knows, via a female nurse who looks like Dick Cheney.

It's miserable, to lay like this, and Tony's been intermittently weeping, trying to cry out his panic, but it doesn't work as well as he wants it to. He presses the "call nurse" button as often as he can, hoping for new information. 

He remembers late into the day that he needs Pepper, and that she's probably at home with the baby, worried sick. The nurse comes in, agitated that he has once again rung the helpline. 

"I need to speak to my wife," he urges, trying to get up.

"That can be arranged," says the nurse, who places a comforting hand on his arm, "but you have to stay still."

"Okay," Tony surrenders, gently falling back into place. He takes a few, steadying deep breaths. "I just need to see her."

~

See her he does. It's hardly an hour later when Pepper enters the room. She looks tired, cute, still wearing her pajamas. It's morning, and Tony didn't even realize it. He wonders how much time has passed. Pepper's hair is in a bun, side bangs a little long, hanging in front of her eyes. No makeup. Tony gas never been so in love with her in his whole life.

Her first action is to hug him, and Tony wishes with all his might that he could sit up and give her a proper hug. Instead he wraps his arms around her and doesn't tell her to stop, even when he internally screams in pain, broken ribs compressed by the embrace. 

"I love you," he whispered roughly into her collarbone. She hugs him tighter and a burst of pain makes him sputter.

She pulls away and Tony wants her back, as much as it hurts. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she says, words in a string, spilling softly from her lips. She kisses him, but is careful not to hurt him. He's delicate to her, now, like China or porcelain.

"I'm sorry," he says, a sob in the back of his throat. "I didn't mean to, I swear, and I was careful and I was going the speed limit and-"

Pepper places a finger on his lips and wipes his face of fresh tears before running her fingers through his hair. 

"It wasn't your fault, Tony."

"It is."

"No it's not. The driver who hit you was texting and driving." 

His breath hitches. He doesn't remember seeing another car.

"Someone hit us?"

"They did."

"Where?"

"On the passenger side door. The car was pushed on to a patch of ice and you hydroplaned until the car rolled into a ditch."

"Is the other driver..."

"She's fine. Shaken up, but she's alive."

He's not sure what he wanted to hear, but for some reason, this isn't it. He'd rather take the blame, not some...

"How old?"

"Sixteen."

 _Younger than Peter._  

And yet, hot anger boils in his stomach. The same adrenaline from earlier, perhaps, even stronger, streaming through his veins. How careless. How careless to text and drive. And now... May and Peter could die. May and Peter could die. May and Peter could-

"Where's Morgan?"

Pepper smiles and relaxes a bit. "She's fine. She's with Happy."

Tony laughs, lightly,  because Happy and children are a hilarious mix. "Good," he manages. 

He takes another look at her before the drugs pull him away again. "I love you," he says, words mixing and blurring with the darkness that envelops him.

~

"A stint?" He asks, groggy, but vaguely aware of what's going on. Pepper's on the bed next to him, wrapped around his frame.

The doctor nods, solemnly. 

"Just so we can get his intracranial pressure back down to normal. There's a lot of swelling due to the impact to the window. We did manage to control the bleeding in his spleen and pancreas. But I feel that I should inform you," the man in the coat swallows, "That this type of injury would be designated as a Traumatic Brain Injury."

Tony clears his throat and clenches his jaw. "What does that mean?" He asks through gritted teeth, wishing everyone would stop pulling punches for him.

"A TBI can have many different implications. It will be hard to tell exactly how it has affected him unless he wakes up."

"Until," Tony cuts in sharply. "Until he wakes up."

Doctor Jim (John) bows his head and scratches his neck. "My apologies. Although, sir, you should be made aware that due to the extent of his injuries and brain damage, there is a good chance that the Peter you know likely wont be the same Peter that wakes up, if that so happens, Mr. Stark."

Tony winces and grips the bridge of his nose.

"Don't call me that," he says, knowing that the man wont understand why.


	3. Stumble and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets to see Peter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost five hundred hits? I'm dizzy from that. Yall are amazing so I'm treating you to an extra chapter today!

Three days pass in a haze of drugs and frustration. Most of the time, Pepper is at his side, nestled in the contours of Tony's shrinking frame. With all the worry, he's lost his appetite, and hasn't eaten since before the crash. Every now and again, he'll drink a coffee, brought to him by Pepper from the hospital cafeteria in one of those paper cups that fall apart ten minutes within use. He's drinking one now, propped up on his pillows. He's had four other visitors, minus Pepper and baby Morgan. 

Steve has just left after a lengthy conversation. Tony hasn't seen him in forever, and it's a welcome suprise- and a distraction. He can't think about Pete right now. 

Pepper returns from her trip to the house. She's holding Morgan, now, who's a few months old and all chunk. Tony holds out his arms, wants to hold her. Pepper shakes her head.

"You can't handle the weight, Tony." She says, sadness in her voice poorly disguised. Morgan is enamoured with her mother's face, chubby hands patting across her chin and neck. 

"I'm fine," he insists, and he is. Doctor Jim (John) came to the room yesterday and apologized profusely- while he does have several broken ribs, three of them are only bruised, and the spinal fracture, it's healed, as well as twelve years old. Tony brushed off the misdiagnosis. At least they got the leg right.

"I really am. Can I hold her?" 

Pepper gives him a once over, then glances at the baby before nodding. "If she gets too heavy, just tell me."

They exchange the baby, an awkward and somewhat humerous flailing of tiny legs and arms. Morgan settles comfortably in Tony's arms once they've got her situated. When Pepper backs away, the infant looks up at her father with wondering in her hazel eyes. She's probably a bit thrown off by the random scattering of cuts and bruises across Tony's face and neck. If so, she doesn't show it.

After a few minutes of wonderment, Tony sniffs and turns to his wife.

"I can't believe I almost," he stops, tries to breath past the lump in his throat. He's still trying to seem calm, collected, but this whole ordeal has left him anxious and traumatized once again. He wants to pretend he's okay, but looking at something so fresh, so beautiful and innocent, he can't bare to lie.

"I almost died, Pepper." A tear sinks into a bandaid under his eye, and down through his stubble. His voice is rough and terrified, and just saying the words makes him want to cry.

"And it's not the first time, I know that but... but I think all of it- the past thirteen years- it's all just hitting me at once." He gasps against the fuzzy, curly head of his daughter. He's trying to hold it in, really trying. "And I've been trying, so hard, to deal with all of it." He let's himself cry against his daughter for a second, full, open sobs. Morgan isn't upset, just confused, and she comes against his skin, pinching his wet cheeks with her hands. He reels it in after a minute or so.

"I can't lose him, Pep."

~

Tony is allowed to see Peter after two more days pass. The man is out of the hospital by now, a large, bulky cast wrapped around his thigh. He feels ridiculous wearing a pair of sweatpants with only half a pant leg on one side. He wears a olive green beanie and a black t-shirt. 

Pepper has insisted he sit in the wheelchair. He hates the thing, but doesn't blame her. He's been shaky on his feet since the accident. At least he can push himself around, no problem, even if it hurts like a bitch.

Pep walks alongside him, long legs making massive strides and making him fall behind in the shuffle to whisk forward. By the time they reach the room, he's breathless, and his wife can tell. She pushes him in gently.

They wait in the family room until Doctor Jim (John) enters. He smiles, but it feels like a hand-me-down expression, a gesture from goodwill. He's used this face one too many times today, and its lacking orginality.

"You're looking good," he says, and he's right, Tony looks remarkabley clean and free of too many noticable scars. Tony just smiles, wanting to get this part over with. When JimJohn notices that Stark's not going to say anything, he continues, "Peter woke up this morning. He seems to have some normal-presenting comprehension and mental function. It doesn't seem like he has any motor issues that can't be solved with physical therapy. But, sir, you should know that he is incredibly exhausted, so he may not be fully revealing of any potential symptoms of major brain damage. Above anything else, just remain calm around him, and make him feel like things are normal."

It's easier said than done, especially when the doc escorts them to Peter's room. Tony's not entirely prepared for how the kid's gonna look. He imagines that the boy will be tired, scratched up a bit. A few tubes, here and there. When the door opens, Tony nearly bursts in to tears.

A long, ribbed tube hangs from an apparatus on the ceiling, forced painfully down the kid's throat and into his trachea. He's paler than usual, skin so clear that Tony can see his veins as if he were looking through a microscope. His hair is shaved on the right side, almost like that style punk-rock girls had taken on in the last few years, except, under the growing hair, a long and swollen stitched-up laceration traces from the front of his forehead to the nape of his neck. To Tony's relief, there are still curls on the unshaven side, flopped and looped above his eyelashes. 

It's instinct, really, that pulls him from the chair. He hopes on his unbroken leg to the kid's bedside. Pete's eyes are open, brighter than Tony thought they would be. There's warmth, in them, too. But Tony didn't expect the terror behind his gaze. Peter's shaking so hard that his ventilator vibrates back and forth. He tries to push himself backward, cowering into his pillows. Tony tries to calm him, to sooth him, but in truth, he can't stand for much longer. He smoothes Pete's curls and kisses him on his forehead.

It's the gesture that calms him. The shaking stops, and there's a moment of clarity as Peter looks up at him, at Tony. Then, he grabs his mentor's hand, using his index finger to trace two words, over and over and over and over until Tony recognize him. His heart drops as the letters form a sentance:

_Help Me._


	4. Tell Me Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's supposed to be getting better, and he's not. It kills Tony to watch him decline again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break! Good to be back to writing. Enjoooy!

Peter's in pain. He doesn't say it, but his eyes and expression are taught, concerned,  _miserable._  His scraped and bruised hands grip his sheets, white knuckled and shaking. Tony tries to tell the doctor and Peter brushes it off. The doctor says he's at his limit. Tony attempts avoiding eye contact, but he can tell that there are tears in the boy's eyes. The man grips the boys hand and prays that his pain will ease.

They took the tube out yesterday. Peter gagged and retched, nearly vomiting as it was pulled from his throat. When it was out, he coughed until he cried. Tony had held him. "I'm so sorry," he'd whispered into the boy's curls. 

Since then, Pete hasn't tried to speak much, but not for lack of trying. He's just too tired, exhausted, really, mouthing words or writing them instead of speaking. When he needs something, he taps on Tony's shoulder, as the man is usually sleeping next to the bed. 

Pete's awake, now. He clears his throat and observes the intricacies of his room. A TV in the corner, perpetually playing a soap opera. Cards all over, get well soon balloons, flowers; how long has he been here? Long enough for a little bit of facial hair, which for Peter, is far too long. He's tried to grow a beard before and it never works. His hands slowly find their way to his own chin and feels the rough stubble. He almost laughs. He can't wait to brag about it to Ned. 

_Ned._ He hasn't come by yet, and neither has MJ. It makes him sick to worry why. Is it because of him? Are they mad, upset, disgusted? He also hasn't gotten the courage to look at himself in the mirror, which may be a factor. Maybe he looks a terrifying, ghoulish, Frankenstein's monster. Tony assures him that he looks fine, but he doesn't believe it. How is he supposed to.

His hands have explored the scar. Long, jagged, swollen, and still wet in the corners from blood. They've taken the stent out, less afraid, now, of swelling. But it still hurts, so, so much. 

He looks at Tony, who's tired head lays to the side of Peter's thighs, over the blankets. He sleeps calmly, a purring snore, not loud, almost as if a cat is sleeping on his lap. He pats Tony's head and hopes that he isn't hurting. One look at the cast, however, and he knows that he definitely is. 

It hits him hard, and fast: he has to pee. He has to go, right now, or else he's gonna wet the bed. He doesn't have a catheter, not anymore. It hurt like hell, especially with his heightened sense. He'll be mortified if he pisses himself, and hey, the bathroom is right there. He shifts slowly, as to not wake Mr. Stark. 

Why wont his legs move? They're supposed to. He's notparalyzed, can't be, as he can see his toes wiggling, almost as if they're calling out to his feet to follow suit. But they don't.  The slow attempt to stand turns frantic. He wiggles his hips, because maybe, just maybe, his legs have fallen asleep.  _Please,_ he whispers to his own legs. If they would just respond- he's sending the command, neurons firing in his head to walk, damnit, and they're not working. Maybe if...

He tries shooting his webs to the bathroom wall, in a desperate attempt to fling himself against the wall. Nothing happens, and this is starting to hurt. He really has to pee, and feels childish to turn so frantic. He can't, wont do this.  _You'll be fine, kid. Better in no time._ Mr. Stark had assured him that, this morning. Better, as in, Pete needs fixing. He had to prove him wrong, on that, that he was fine and would stay fine, and there was nothing wrong. He could grit his teeth and bare the pain, but this? This would kill him with embarrassment. He wasn't three years old. He couldn't wet the bed. 

He can't get out. He's trapped in the confines of his covers. Everything is too heavy to move. He's gasping, claustrophobic, attached to God knows how many wires. He doesn't want to do this, wish he was sleeping and didn't have to do this and be conscious about it. 

Tony wakes up to hear the boy sobbing. It's a painful sound, raw and ragged. "Buddy? Kid, what is it?"

Peter cries harder. "I have to Pee. I really have to pee." 

Tony almost laughs, but is glad that he can reel it in. That's all? But when he sees the look on the kid's face, he knows. He can't get up.

It's instinct that drives him to unplug Peter from his monitor and scoop him up in his arms, gentle to support his neck. He's worried, of course, that he's going to do something wrong, that he's going to hurt him, but he sees how much pain the boy's in. He brings him to the toilet and turns away as he pees into the bowl. 

It would be weird to, now, but he really just wants to hug him. He's a terrified kid, weeping on the toilet. 

"I'm sorry," he wails when he's done. 

A code team rushes in in response to the deadened monitor, and it's just now that he recognizes the sound, the incessant ring of the flatlined screen. A doctor sees the empty bed and follows the line of blankets and sheets to see the boy on the can and Tony leaning against the wall. Tony turns to see them and sighs.

"He had to use the bathroom for christ's sake. Can you give the kid some privacy?"

The doctor looks at his leg, confused as to how he's standing. Tony walks out to them and closes the bathroom door to let the kid compose himself. The metal grind of the machine whines and whistles as he walks. "A handy little contraption. Made it myself."

The doctor's expression doesn't change. "It doesn't put any pressure on your leg?"

"Nope. Now if you excuse us, I'll get him back to bed."

~

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asks later that night. Tony looks up. "I'm sorry that I need fixing." 

Tony's eyes dropped to the floor. "You know, kid... that wasn't what I meant earlier."

Pete nods. "I know. But I just thought that I could fight it, you know? Because I should be healing, right?"

Stark doesn't have an answer. He wants to say yes, but this is different, it's a brain injury. Pete's emotional a lot, unable to walk, and has some limited function on his left side. It's hard to tell what is caused by the TBI and what is just a result of being in a crash five days ago. In other words, Tony doesn't know what will ever get better in Peter. This could be permanent. The thought hurts his heart. 

"Whatever happens, Pete, will happen to us together."

He grips Peter's hand. Pete squeezes back and asks, "You promise?"

Tony smiles and swallows his sadness. 

"I promise, kiddo."


	5. Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changes...  
> For better or for worse, everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo mini rant. I attend this creative writing class that is instructed by my favorite professor. And I wrote a short story for it, and he reviewed it in front of the class and tore it apart. He hated it. Said it would never be published in any magazine. And it literally broke my heart.  
> So, I'm writing, trying to lighten my spirit. Guys, don't hate on things- not that you would. But it can really crush someone's soul for a little while.

Peter's supposed to get to see May today- and possibly go home. He's been in the ICU now, for two weeks. His scar has been going down in swelling, but it's still a shock to the system for Tony. He still can't walk, and as he adjusts to the world again, his brain damage becomes more and more evident. His left hand has trouble gripping things, and he's emotional- not just sadness, tears, but also anger. Outbursts at Tony, at the nurses, periodically. It's very unlike him, and it breaks Tony's heart. 

Pete's speech is slurred at times, and he has trouble gasping some words. "Tony," Peter asked earlier, "Could you put these in the train?" An armful of cards in hand, pouring them into a bag.  _Train._  Tony had politely corrected him, and tried not to notice the swell of blush across his cheeks and nose. "Car, buddy. In the Car."

Peter had just bit his lip and nodded, eyes glued to his knees. 

As Stark unloaded some of Peter's things into the car, he thought about May. Things had been getting worse from her, day to day. The doctor had seemed so sure that she'd be off the vent, almost immediately. But she hadn't. Her brain swelled some days, her heart stopped functioning on others. May had coded six times now, in the past two weeks. And now Peter...

Peter shouldn't have to see her like that. Eyelids taped down, a tube in her throat. A pump breathing for her. It wasn't fair, none of it had been. It had all started with-

"You okay buddy?"

The Valet. A sweet looking African American man in a black suit and a neon yellow vest.

"Yeah, I'm good," says Tony, who realises he's been standing here contemplating his existence for far too long.

~

Tony lowers Peter into a wheelchair. He's lighter than he remembers, but he's still glad he's made himself a pair of "iron legs", more so a skeletal structure surrounding his broken leg that allows him to walk without putting pressure on it. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do such hands on work. 

He offered the kid a pair of the same, just until he got back on his feet. Pete politely declined. 

The teen is silent as Tony wheels him to May's room. Cracks and bumps on the floor jolt the wheelchair up and down occasionally, as if they are running over a patch of gravel. The man wishes that he could just cradle him, prepare him for what is to come- but of that, even, he is not sure.

"Just so you know, she may look a little different," Tony adds, several feet from the door. "Just like you and I did when we were sleeping."

Peter bows his head. "I know," he whispers, chin tucked into his collarbone. "And she's not sleeping," he says gruffly. "She's in a coma."

Tony is silent the rest of the way.

When they open the door, he braces himself for a breakdown from Peter. He expects him to be terrified- God knows he is- and he wants him to feel free expressing whatever he needs to Express. But as Peter takes the sight of her in, he is eerily calm. It's so silent in the room that it gives Tony chills up and down his spine, and goosebumps race across his tanned and scraped skin. No words, only the whir of the machines around the woman.

Her skin looks like paper. Machines hold her up and hold her together, and she looks so fragile that she might break. All things considered, she actually looks worse than Peter did. 

The boy stares at his aunt, unsure of what to do. Her chest rises and falls with the flow of the ventilator. 

Tony sets a wary hand on Peter's shoulder.

"You okay, kid?" 

He tenses up under the man's grip. "Can you wheel me closer?" He asks, brushing away Tony's hand with a roll of the shoulder. "I want to... can you just wheel me closer?"

Tony tried not to be hurt by the kid wanting to get away, and does as he says. He backs away and let's Pete take her in: the sight of her, the smell, the feel. 

With his right hand, which still functions well, Peter grips his aunt's hand and takes a deep breath. 

"Do you think she's going to make it?"

"Kid-"

"Do you?"

Tony bites his tongue. "So far Doctor Jim has said-"

"Doctor John."

"I know. He's been saying it's about 50/50. We were all roughed up pretty bad." Tony winces. Of the three of them, he's experienced the least of it all. "May took the brunt of it. She was in the side the other car-"

"Okay." Says Peter, apparantly either very dissatisfied or very satisfied with this answer. His festures betray some secret that he isn't saying aloud. Tony is going to let this go for now.

One last squeeze of her hand, and Peter looks at Tony. "Can we go now?"

And they do. Tony wheels him out without question, gets him settled back in his room. He says he'll be back momentarily, and when he does, he'll help Pete get back into civilian clothes. Peter says that's okay and thanks him for helping.

As Tony races down the hallway, he wishes he'd done more. He wishes he was  _doing_ more. And he's not. Tony Stark is just adding to the pain. He's ripping the kid's emotional stitches out, one by one, because he has no way of helping him. This kills him, and its shredding him internally.

When he reaches the bathroom, he barely has time to get to a toilet to vomit. 

When he's done, he leans back on his knees, tears on his cheeks and in his eyelashes. He's never going to be enough, and he knows it in his heart, feels it in his soul.


	6. The Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to adjust to a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yalls comments are making me happy! How's everyone's week going?

Blue evening light, soft and changing like an ocean, shines in through the car window as Pepper drives. Her husband sits in the passenger side, gripping her hand, tightly. Peter's in back, sleeping. They bought him a blanket for the drive home, and he's all tucked up in it. He looks infinitely younger than he is. 

"How are you feeling?" She asks cautiously. These days, Tony's been a steady stream of panic and guilty tears. She doesn't want to push him over the edge- but she thinks it's better if he talks to her, to get some of this cluttered mess off his mind.

"I'm really tired, Pep," he says, scratching his temple and staring out at the grass and foliage that waves goodbye from the hospital entrance. "I'm really, really tired." He looks at her, earnest sadness in his eyes. "What about you?"

Pepper grips the steering wheel just a little bit tighter and takes a deep breath. "I'm okay, Tony. Just been taking care of Morgan. She's been fussy- she misses you."

"I miss her too."

A squeeze from Pepper's hand to Tony's.

"You'll see her soon. You know how much Thor likes babies."

"Ah, so Thor's on baby duty. She better not come home all singed and staticky."

"It happened once, Tony."

Peter rolls over as best he can in the back seat. A small sound escapes him, a hum of discomfort. It pierces Tony's chest just a bit. He bites his lip, steeling a glance of the boy in the rearview. The pain eases, seeing Pete's chest rising and falling with each breath. He's never really contemplated it, really, how beautiful the gift of breathing on your own. He inhales with him, letting out an exhale in unison. Inhale, _he's alive,_ Exhale,  _you're alive._  

Slowly, he let's his eyes close, capturing the mental image of peace behind his lids. They're alive, bruised and beaten, left with more scars on the inside and out than they could have ever imagined. But they're alive, and no one will ever have the right to take that from them. He's content, in that.

~

The air whistles around the vehicle as they crash, a peircing, shrill sound. Metal scrapes against metal. Shouts of terror, wails and screams and proclamations to God. 

Tony knows it's a dream. His hands let go of the wheel for a split second, watching as glass rains down on his lap. He looks to May, who's hair blows in her face with striking agility as the force of the impact breathes a long sigh in through the cracks in her window. An inward gasp, as she grasps what's happening. Everything is slow motion, dragged out in painful detail. She mouths,  _It's okay_ , maybe to herself, or to her nephew, or maybe even to Tony. 

He turns to look for Peter, and he isn't there. He's not in the car, and even though that should be some kind of comfort, it makes Tony increasingly anxious. Where could he have possibly-

From out of nowhere, he appears, falling to the back of the seat, head hitting the window, that splitting sound, like the smashing of a watermelon. Then, the car stops spinning, and it's rolling now, toppling end over end into the ditch.

Whatever impact he must've had against the windows or whatever is what wakes him, a thrashing jolt, as if he's expecting to fall. But no, no, he's here, stabilized by the passenger seat. He has to take several deep breaths, mind confused and twisted around reality. 

They're stopped at a Gas Station. Pepper holds the pump, eyes to the sky as she waits for it to finish. Peter's still in back now, awake. His little red fleece blanket is wrapped around his folded knees.

"Where did you go?" Tony asks, although he knows half way through saying it that it won't make any sense.

"I've been here the whole time," Peter adds, curling up a little tighter in the blanket. "I woke up about ten minutes ago."

Tony tries to calm his racing heart. He focuses on Peter, who is so small in the back of the car, like a newborn on the way home from a hospital, totally and completely vulnerable to the world around him. 

"Are you okay?" He questions, Scanning him for any extra bruises and cuts he may have acquired during the drive home.

"I think so," he assures, glancing over his own arms and shoulders. "I didn't jostle around too much."

"Okay. Okay." Breathes Tony, biting back his worry.  "I just had a bad dream." He falls back in his seat, exhausted from a restless sleep. 

Pepper knocks on the window. "Would either of you boys like a soda?" She asks when Tony rolls the glass down on the driver's side. Tony looks to Peter with a question in his eyes.

"Dr. Pepper?" He asks, and Tony nods. The man looks to his wife and smiles. "Dr. Pepper for Pete and a Sprite for me." 

Pepper smiles back and kisses him through the open window. "Sure thing. Be back in a sec." 

When she leaves, Tony calms in the lingering scent of her perfume. It wont be long before they're home, slipping into a pair of shoes that don't quite fit yet, stumbling over every threshold with sea legs, breathless and terrified. It will be a shocking change for the three of them, but they'll find their way eventually. 

For the moment, it is quiet, and for that, Tony's spirit lightens. It may not last forever, but it is something.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has to adjust to his new life at Tony's house- and it's harder than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love all the feedback from yall.  
> Guess what! I got into the school of my dreams- Studio School. It's a film school in Los Angeles and I honestly cannot believe I'll be going in the fall. I think it was my writing that got me in. Whew. Freaking unbelievable!

Peter dreams he's a frog. Instead of lillypads, Pete jumps and hops from rooftop to rooftop, scaling large buildings across New York with ease. He's probably only been asleep for a few minutes, but it feels like hours- several, glorious hours- gliding freely through the air, green legs propelling him forward, not a care in his little frog brain.

Like most good dreams, it ends. Peter wakes abruptly, quite sure that he is falling from a tremendous height. His muscles shake as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Everything is dark, save the soft yellow light that bleeds under the doorframe from the hall. He tries to adjust his breath, to quiet the sudden rush of air so as not to alert Tony or his AI's. He wipes the sweat from his brow, and gently lays back down. He's terrified of bumping his head, or breaking a stitch or worse, injuring his brain further. 

Everything is uncomfortable. It shouldn't be, because, for goodness sakes, Tony and Pepper are catering to his every need. He has easily five blankets, all luxuriously soft and warm,  hoard of perfectly dense pillows, and as a bonus, Tony's installed a temporary AI in his room, who will respond to any questions of concerns that Peter may have to offer. 

The AI, who Peter has dubbed "Brendon Urie's Delicious Left Nipple", (BUD, for short), senses the boy's elevated heart rate through the monitor installed on the wall. A babymonitor, if Tony is honest with himself, which he isn't ("Its not a babymoniter!"). It's incredibly embarrassing. 

"Peter," says BUD, a buttery, dark tone. "It seems as though you're experiencing a bit of distress. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?"

"NO!" blurts Pete, louder than he intended. "No," he adds, quieter now. "I'm fine. Can you just..."

"Can I what, Mr. Parker?"

"Can you talk to me for a little while?"

"That would be perfectly fine. What would you like to talk about?"

~

Tony is digging through kitchen drawers. He knows the buggers are in there somewhere. He was going to set this stuff up anyway, and Pete just gives him a valid excuse.

Baby proofing. Hard edges are not so sparse in this house- practically everything is pointy or flammable. Although Morgan isn't walking yet, and likely wont for a while, who's to say Pete wont regain the ability to do so within the week? If he does, Tony needs to be ready.

It only takes a few more minutes to find the squishy, foam-like material in the back of the cabinet. He starts with the coffee table, lines it with the stuff. Good, there, that's done. One coffee table. There are trillions more pointy surfaces around the house that he's gonna need to cover. He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to let the tension melt from him.

"Boss," says Friday, behind him. "I just wanted to alert you that Mr. Parker is awake."

Tony turns, rigidly- he's not sure why, as there won't be any physical form standing there that he can banter with- exhales angrily. 

"It's 1:30. What's he doing up?"

"It's 2:57, sir. He's talking with Brendon Urie's Delicious Left Nipple."

He stops in his tracks. "What's that, now?"

"Brendon Urie's Delicious Left Nipple. Mr. Parker has named him."

Tony almost laughs. "I'm sure he has. Can you pull the moniter up for me?"

"Sure thing, sir."

A small screen projects on the wall adjacent to him.

"Do you have dreams, Bud?" Peter asks the AI.

"I am in a constant state of awareness, so I don't believe so. I'm assuming you do?"

Peter smiles, pixilated light cracking and breaking around his sweet, childish cheeks. "I do. I wish I was still dreaming right now."

"Why's that, Mr. Parker?"

"In my dreams, I can feel everything. I can walk and fly and- well, I can't right now."

"You can fly in your dreams?"

"Well, not exactly fly. But I can swing, like I use to."

"As spiderman."

Peter's smile fades. "Yeah, as spiderman. Hey, do you think- do you think I'm going to get better?"

"It's better not to focus on that now, Mr. Parker."

"Do you think I'm going to die from this?"

"It's a highly unlikely scenario."

There is utter silence, dark, thick, and milky.

"I wish I could. I hate living like this."

Tony shuts off the moniter, feeling that he has overstayed his welcome. He's eavesdropping, so he has no real way of telling the kid what he heard. But that sentance-  _I wish I could-_ elicits a cold chill down his neck. Every parental instinct in him goes into overdrive. Is the kid's room protected? Is there anything sharp, point, metal, hard-

Is there anything the kid could hurt himself with? He can't go in, can't say anything, can't do anything. He's paralyzed at the thought of losing Peter's trust. He has few options and choses the most reasonable of them.

Tony grabs a throw blanket and a pillow from his and Pepper's room, as well as a few, overstuffed pillows. He makes a pallet in the hallway outside of Pete's door, where he silently takes in the muffled, gibberish voices from inside the wall. He doesn't know what they're saying, but he knows that Pete is there- Pete is there, Pete is there, Pete is there. It calms the growing dread, just enough to allow him to sleep.

Peter doesn't say anything to BUD, he doesn't shout across the door, but he knows Tony is there, curled up on the hardwood floor. He can see the shadow of his form against the light of the hall.

And, in truth, Tony is the best night light that Peter could ask for. 

 

 


	8. It's Not your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guilty conscience weighs on Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! So I got a 27k scholarship to the school of my dreams, so that's pretty cool 🙏✌ no joke I've been freaking out ever since I found that out. It's insane. So I'm moving to LA in August!

It starts with random words.  _Ice Cream. Hairbrush. Beautiful. Happiness._

They fall out of his head without him even realizing it. Peter tries to hide it, replacing forgotten words and phrases with gestures. "Mr. Stark? Can you hand me that thing?"

The television remote, but his mouth can't fit around that thought- it's in his head, softly leaning against his skull, knocking on the bone with a steady fist as if to say,  _This is what you're trying to say._ But he can't. Remote. Remote. Remote. Each thought, a burst in his blood. He knows exactly what he wants to say, but doesn't know how to say it. It is so incredibly frustrating.

"Sure thing." Tony tosses the remote control, and it lands with a thud against Peter's thigh on the leather couch. Tony attempts not to stare at Pete's scar- it's not scary, per se, more so incredibly intriguing. He had a dream last night that he decorated the stitches with bows, much to the boy's displeasure. It looks painful, and he wants to ask if it us, but he restrains himself.

Peter changes the channel from the news- CNN, Anderson Cooper's slightly nasal voice droning on about something stupid the President said on social media as of late- to TBS. Friends is playing. Pete relaxes in his spot on the couch.

It's been a month since the crash. That thought alone is terrifying to the both of them. May is not doing any better, and as much as Peter pretends to take it well, Tony knows how much it breaks his heart. Every day they feel farther and farther from reality, as if they've passed to some alternate dimension where time moves incredibly slowly, the background music of television commercials lulling them to sleep.

They aren't sleeping now, and in fact, Tony hasn't been able to sleep for at least a week now. His dark circles are so deep that they could easily pass for healing shiners. Pete doesn't look much better, but for an entirely different reason. 

Peter pauses the TV and it makes the man hold his breath in anticipation. Stress rises from the pit of his stomach to his chest. 

"Do you think May is going to die?" Strangely calm. He doesn't look up at him, and a stray curl bounces under the weight of circulating air conditioning. Tony sucks in one more extra breath, overfilling his lungs. It almost makes him cough.

"I don't know." Its out before he has time to think. He's supposed to be a source of comfort, some kind of fixer upper for this beautiful boy's emotional needs, but he can't fix this because in truth...

He really doesn't know what to expect. And he knows it's not the right answer because immediately, the kid's eyes dart and meet Tony's, suddenly so wide and vulnerable. "So you think she could?"

"I don't," God, he can't stop himself, "know." 

Tony can feel his leg jimmying the way it does when he's nervous, but hes not really sending the signals to do so consciously. It's painful, really is, to swallow the lump of raw sadness that is rising in his throat, the one that grows every time he looks at this poor kid. His kid. It hurts more than any injury he's ever sustained in the last forty years. 

The sound that comes out of Peter is that of a wounded animal; strained and peircing, and all the more painful. And before he can do or say anything to stop him from overflowing, Peter is sobbing, leaning back against his cushion, the sticky material creaking with every shudder. It rips a part of Tony from his body, and he's just sitting there, stunned.

"I d'on n nt, ,, want to lo, ose her,r." He weeps into his palm, head turned up. His Adam's apple bobs under his skin, and his words are almost unintelligible. "And it,s's all, it's all my, my fault." He tries to breathe through his tears and he opens his eyes against the steady flow, finding Tony through the blur. Tony sits in silence, tears in his eyes as well, a few spilling over into his eyelashes.

"This isn't," Tony swallows, "Your fault. I was driving." He has to wait a minute to continue, "I was the one driving, Peter, not you. You were asleep in the back seat and couldn't have changed a thing." Something close to anger, closer than he'd like. He doesn't want to come across that way to this boy, especially not right now. He works extra hard to smoothen his tone.

"Whatever guilt you have spent up in you, Peter, you need to let out. Because if you don't, it's going to eat you from the inside out. And you are my boy, Peter. And I refuse to let you blame yourself for something that you could not have prevented."

And there's a silence between them, faltering in between Peter's stifled sobs against his shirtsleeve. He's trying to calm himself, to reign it back in, but it feels impossible. 

"I'm sorry, Tony."

And just like that, it shatters him. Shatters the grown man who's suppose to be strong, has to be strong for the kid. "Please don't be sorry," says Tony, contagiously crying against his own palm, reaching out his free hand to touch Peter's shoulder. He stands and gets closer, sits right up against him. Peter topples over into his arms.

"There is nothing you could have done," he tells Peter. "Nothing. This isn't your fault. You are good, you are kind, and you did not cause this."

Peter hugs him around the waist and whispers into Tony's stomach, just quietly enough that to the untrained ear, it might have sounded like gibberish. In one, quiet breath, Peter tells him,

"Neither did you."


	9. Sweet Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter deals with his TBI symptoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.  
> ITS BEEN A WHILE. HASNT IT.
> 
> Let me start off by saying, it is good to be back! Since I last updated, many things have changed. I moved to Los Angeles, got a job, go to film school, have met a couple celebrities, and as a result: I haven't had so much free time.  
> But tis me! I'm back! Your eyes do not deceive you!  
> Please please please come back. I miss you all and cant wait to hear what you think!

The world is made up by a map of atoms, as is Peter, as is the bed, beneath him. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel every single one, the trying and untying of matter throughout his body. Every now and then, the atoms strain and split, and explosions ripple through his skull, bombs to the brain that leave him gasping for breath, clutching at the sides of his head. Peter tries his best to hide this from Mr. Stark, though. The man has experienced enough worry and secondhand pain to last him 50 lifetimes.

The boy is reeling, now, from the last migraine. The universe is too bright, a vast canvas of fluorescence behind the tinted redness of his eyelids, not so much a shield any longer. Still, he presses them closed, so hard that that his top and bottom lashes crosshatch and the soft skin of the lids creases. He tries his best not to make a sound, and practices maintaining a steady heart rhythm- any disturbance will alert Karen, who will automatically pass the information on to Tony.

Hot breath pours from his nose and he sips in cool air through his mouth. The cycle repeats. The world calms, and his eyes flutter. Eyelashes comb through eachother until he finds his center, and all comes in to focus once again. He's okay, it'll be okay. This was only his third migraine today, and at 11AM, he has now met a new landmark- most of the time, the terrible headaches are far more frequent. This number is down by half from last week. 

Another month has passed. Two months past the accident, and Peter still feels the effects of whiplash. Some days he wakes up to the sound of laughter- Tony and Pepper, their daughter on Tony's knee. Pepper's laugh sometimes sounds like May's. For a moment, everything is as it should be. He'll smile, contagious joy caught only through the thin walls of the house. 

_Crack_.

Head to the window. Normalcy dashed away. May's laugh morphs back into Pepper's, and Peter suddenly wishes for the migraine to sweep him away again. It gives him a good excuse to cry, which he feels must be annoying at with the rate he does so. It isn't just the fact that his aunt is in the hospital, a good chance of her never to wake, but the TBI has found him in new and different ways. It has snuck into his emotions, crafted him into a man who is not only quick to anger, but far quicker to sorrow. The end result of this has been a considerable amount of yelling, weeping, ranting. Peter knows how sad it must be, the show he unintentionally puts on. They can't go out in public, because Peter will just fuck everything up.

But what else is new.

~○~

Everything slips away. Tony feels dramatic, in admitting this, but it is helplessly true. He is an observer and nothing more. A hero to some, but a failure of a savior to the person he needs to protect the most. Peter has been tossed to the wolves, bare of armor, fighting with nothing more than his words and his fists. Tony can't fix this, can't tinker with the broken parts until it works again. It is out of his hands, and it kills him.

He enjoys these little moments, before the whole process starts again. The moments of loud silence, a force greater than ignorance or naivety that drifts upon them; intolerance to logic their only option. If they pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing is wrong, sometimes he can get a glimpse of a world where this is true. Today, he gets that glimpse. 

The morning is scented with the sweet thickness of syrup and bacon grease. Forks tink against plates, pieces of pancakes sliced like mini pizza slices. Pepper eats and he watches her smile as the taste spreads across her tongue. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

Tony smiles, toying with a peice of bacon with his butter knife. "I know. I'm just awesome. I thought you knew that, though."

Pepper's lips spread, a soft smile gracing her cheeks.

"No, honestly. The thought never even occured to me."

Morgan makes a cooing noise, chubby arms reaching for the food on Tony's plate. "Hey? You wanna try?" 

Morgan looks up at him and her angel-soft curls of hair tip backwards against her neck. 

"Tony," warns Pepper, laughing. "No. Not yet."

"What? Pancakes are soft!"

Pepper laughs.

It's then that the sound of a door hitch is unlocked, followed by a creak, then footsteps trailing the hall. Peter. Silence crosses over them like unexpected fog. Peter hardly comes out of his room anymore.

Out of the dark hallway, he emerges. He's smaller than Tony remembers, although he only just saw him yesterday, albeit, in fleeting glances. His chesnut curls are a bit longer, but not much. One falls in his eye, constantly, and he has to push it away. His eyes are puffy, but that is a constant, now. The crying is manic, often, and unpredictable. It used to be a slight suprise, to see the boy break down, as he tried so hard to be so strong- but this is no longer in his control. 

Then, there's the left wrist. It hangs limply at his side. He can move everything else on that arm, can even wiggle his fingers, and yet, for whatever reason, the one joint wont budge. Peter doesn't seem to have noticed this, but it's been going on for about a week.

"You guys eating without me? Not going to lie, I'm kind of offended."

He tries a smile. Tony hasn't seen one in so long, unless he's having a manic episode. He swallows and a flutter of lightheartedness lifts in his chest.

"Yeah, it's kind of more fun without you. But I guess you can join if you want."

Peter's not exactly laugh-ready yet. It doesn't quite fit ot feel natural. Laughter feels like a precursor to a breakdown. Instead, he smiles, exhales loudly. "It smells really good. Did you hire a chef?"

"Tony made it." Pepper says, holding Tony's right hand across the table.

"Wait, really? I thought you had Happy make your meals."

"He used to," Tony shrugs. "I actually kind of like cooking."

Peter takes a bite of pancake, chews.

"That's actually amazing."

And for a moment, bliss fills him; Peter's eyes close, and he drifts to a memory: a family dinner with Ben and May. They eat waffles with strawberries and wipcream. The chaotic silence of IHOP late at night surrounds them as they laugh. 

A lump rised in his throat, and for the first time, it doesn't hurt. It is a welcome, beautiful pain, a nostalgia and longing for the past that brings tears to his eyes and joy to his heart.

He wants to share it with Tony and Pepper, this memory.

And yet, when he opens his eyes to find them, the world is filled with darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be back again soon! Life is a crazy thinga and sometimes things get backed up, and I just... it feels good to do something good when I'm experiencing some rougher parts of my mental illness, you know?
> 
> Please tell me your thoughts on the chapter. I love yall!


End file.
